


Deserve It (and Everything That Entitles)

by DeadShips



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: 'Ric' Grayson - Freeform, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Damian Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Koriand'r, Alpha Kyle Rayner, Alpha Roy Harper, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Porn, Biting, Bottom Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Car Sex, Cum Eating, Deep Throating, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gun play, Heavy Angst, M/M, Omega Jason Todd, Past Child Abuse, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Skeezy Ric Grayson, Spanking, Unreliable Narrator, dckinkmeme, face fucking, self destructive tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadShips/pseuds/DeadShips
Summary: His nose is assaulted with aroused alpha, and it’s only when Ric is pulling him down by hooking his fingers behind his teeth to shove his face into his erection that he notices that Ric doesn’t smell like strawberries and mint. There isn’t any hint of the sweetness under the pungent smell of arousal and cedar. It’s what really seals the deal for Jason; that this really isn’t Dick, but a stranger wearing his Robin’s face.-Jason doesn't know what's happened to Dick Grayson, but he's intent on finding out.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Duke Thomas & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Kyle Rayner/Jason Todd (mentioned), Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd (mentioned)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 137





	Deserve It (and Everything That Entitles)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/gifts).



> This is for the DC KINK MEME, Prompt; Skeezy Ric Grayson  
> >One specific fic I read has completely coloured my perception of Ric, and now I'm just desperate to see him being a total creep. Perving on his siblings and former friends. Would love to see him not take no for an answer, especially with someone who doesn't want to fight back because "it's still Dick in there somewhere, I can't hurt him" or something like that.
> 
> Preference for Wally (HiC who?) or Jason, but Tim, Roy, Babs or Donna would be okay, too! A/B/O with Alpha!Ric would be a bonus but isn't necessary.<
> 
> I hope this fills that void for you!
> 
> As always, please let me know if I'm missing any tags, and I will add them accordingly 
> 
> ** And for those of you who don't want to read the plot and just want to read the smut, scroll down to the section marked with the stars

After the week that he’s had, Jason just wants to nurse his beer in solitude and sleep until his limbs ache from staying in one spot for so long. 

The solitude unfortunately, would not be granted, the almost spicy element to the pale ale however makes up for it. At least it would - if he didn’t have to snarl over the top of his pint every few seconds to ward off the approach of leering alpha. It seemed at eighty thirty on a Tuesday the place was brimming with the stench of alpha, all eager to pop their knot into the seemingly only omega in the bar. The fact that he was a male omega however? He may as well put on a blinking “Knot Me” sign that could rival the ones in Vegas. He knows what it means to be a rarity amongst an already ill-perceived caste, knows what kind of attention that will follow him until the day that he stays in the ground, has ever since he was rubbing rotted garbage all along his body to keep the creeps of crime alley at bay. 

It’s his fault, he thinks bitterly as he raises the glass for another longing swig. He knew exactly what he was exposing himself to when he walked into the bar instead of going to the liquor store on 7th and main. If Roy was here, he would admonish Jason for putting himself in a position for self inflicted torture. He’d say something along the lines of Jason being so self depreciative that deep down Jason subjected himself to the pinches of his ass and the cat-calls because he liked to be objectified, something about falling into old patterns rather than looking further than the surface. Whatever far fetched theory that was, Jason stopped listening when Roy had started labeling the behavior as cowardice.

He knows, damnit. That doesn’t mean that Roy has to go off on one of his tirades and get Kori involved. God, just thinking about that look that she’d given him, not one of disappointment or judgement -  _ never judgement  _ \- but the way that her beaming smile dropped into one of sad understanding when Roy had explained to her the real reason for Jason’s sudden visit made his heart clench and his head queasy. 

_ I’m just so horrible aren’t I? God forbid that I want something more than your body _

Yeah, Jason’s a fucking coward. What else could he say to defend himself? It’s not like he’s had the most stellar role models in his life. It’s not like Willis and Catherine were the poster example for healthy relationship standards. Bruce’s healthiest relationship was with a cat burglar that he traded arrests for rooftop romps. No one’s shown Jason how to be vulnerable with another person, how to allow himself to be loved. The slap that he got for saying that aloud, despite being hours old left a phantom pain that still throbs whenever he thought of it. 

_ Don’t you ever fucking say that again when we taught you better than that Jaybird _

Jason knows that it’s his fault. He knows that Roy would have never raised a hand to him if the archer didn’t deem it absolutely necessary to get through his thick skull. The slap was meant to shut him up from saying anything else stupid, hell, it didn’t even hurt that bad. It looked more painful to Roy than it did to be slapped. And because Roy was right (which is something that Jason never wanted to think about), Jason had jumped the island the second that Roy and Kori excused themselves to  _ talk _ . He’d gone to the island because he needed an escape, needed to be around the two alpha who never asked more of him than to simply exist. He wanted to feel the sun on his skin, no matter how much he complained that it brought out the freckles over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He wanted to sink his toes into the warm sand as he got lost in some sappy novel that would be inevitably stolen from his hands and teased until he was blue in the face over. He wanted to fall into the nest specifically reserved for him after being left warm, muscles and mind pliant from the heat of the sun only to be engulfed in the heat that was Kori’s body at his back, scorching fingers running along his neck, shoulders and hair, while Roy waxed cheesy poetics about how much they missed having him around. He wanted Roy to rub his face into the crook of his neck in that stupidly annoying way that was absolutely perfect. tHe wanted the comfort, the sense of belonging, the smell of the little pack they made so pungent on his skin that he could suffocate. If Jason had just _ said that _ instead of blowing up in an indignant snarl after moping around for days, they wouldn’t have bat an eye as they showered him in endless praise and affection. They would have absolutely spoiled him as the ‘jewel of the pack’ as Kori so put it; never being without touch, scent, Roy would probably even cut up his favorite fruits in that way that he liked and fed it to him until his belly ached. 

Roy and Kori, they didn’t deserve the ugly stream of misplaced hatred that came out of his mouth. The slap was well earned. If anything at all, Kori should have scorched his ass into next year with how ungrateful he was acting. Roy wasn’t going to tiptoe around Jason’s feelings because he was an assole (he was, but that's besides the point), he was confronting Jason out of a place of genuine concern. Fear in seeing the lengths that Jason would go to throw away the little good that he had in his life. 

Roy couldn’t be more spot on in his assessment, especially when Jason was in a seedy bar, being leered at while he threw back a shot of cheap tequila after finishing his third pint for the night. It wasn’t nearly enough to get him drunk, one of the little parting gifts of the pit being that he couldn’t even get himself proper smashed without spending a shiny penny first, but it was starting to dull out the replaying exchange in his head. 

_ Tell me what you want, Jason, because I’m exhausted trying to figure it out _

On second thought, he needed another shot. Maybe the whole bottle. The bartender didn’t complain as long as he slid his fair share across the sticky bartop and Jason didn’t falter in flashing the extra set of fangs whenever someone tried to slip up next to him. He didn’t need their words bouncing around in his head and creating a ruckus when he was fully capable of ruining his own night without them, thank you. 

_ If you walk out on that door, if you run out on this, I won’t follow _

Two shots, into three, three into five, at some point another beer, and Jason fancied himself a little tower made from the shooters. It was pleasing to put the last glass right on top, feeling his mind grow hazy at the edges as he admired his work. It was pretty, in a completely pathetic way that could only be obtained by detachment of his surroundings. The alcohol definitely may have helped with that. Lonely however, and that certainly wouldn’t do. Jason barely lifted a finger when his carefully crafted tower was being deconstructed and put into a plastic bin, he was outraged! How dare they touch his creation, how dare someone lay their fingers -

The bar was silent, save for the sound of glass clinking as they were shifted about in said bin. All night it’d been nothing but insenstint chatter, drunken laughter, shuffling feet, billard clangs, and shitty folk-rock. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been bothered in some time. Now that he looked around and saw the empty (and thoroughly trashed) state of the bar, Jason felt himself lost. Apparently he’d done a far better job at removing himself from the world than he’d given credit for. As if reading his confusion, the bartender spoke up.

“Last call was ten minutes ago.”

Jason sucked in a breath through his teeth, unsure if he was really shocked by the information because they let him stay and drink or because he’d been so far out of touch he completely missed what looked like quite the bar fight with the glass strewn around in the east corner. 

“How much do I owe you?” Jason was already reaching into his pocket to retrieve the wad of cash, shuffling out surely an unnecessary amount with no real care, courtesy of a stolen ATM card of one Bruce T Wayne and slapping it against the warped wood. 

“I got a ride for you,” Jason’s eyes shot up, trying to figure out the audacity of the bartender being so presumptuous. Just because he let Jason stay later and drown his sorrows, did not mean that he was interested in going home with him. He was well and ready to spit out just as much when the male raised his hand as if to compacite him before speaking. “There’s no way that you’re driving home with how much you’ve had, and I can’t let a stumbling and drunk ‘mega roam these streets at this hour. I don’t need that guilt on my mind” 

Oh. Yeah, that made sense. 

This man didn’t know that even when tipsy, Jason could put down anyone bold enough to try anything. He didn’t know that he was speaking to the Red Hood of Gotham and the Outlaws. All he knew was that he was some sad little omega who came into his bar to drink himself silly. It was surprisingly sweet in a way that Jason really didn’t want to think about. Even if he wanted to argue it would be caught in his throat before it even had a chance to see the light of day when he heard  _ him _ . 

“This the sad little thing you needed me to pick up?”

Jason’s hackles raised immediately, he felt his mouth go dry, his eyes lifelessly flickered over the bar as he ran through every single detail of the night, trying desperately to figure out where he’d gone and fucked himself enough to let this detail slip. His phone wasn’t out, so there was no way that the bartender had taken his phone to find the contact. He doesn’t explicitly remember telling the man anything about himself, or really saying anything more than ordering and paying. Sure, he’d been distracted, but even then he wasn’t at all thinking of  _ him. _ If there was any color left in his skin it would seep out with his next thought; he’d been recognized. That was the only explanation! He didn’t know that Jason was in town. Jason didn’t plan on telling him - it was blindly the first place that he went to when he jumped ship. Never did he think of the repercussions - not that it was anything new for him. One moment he’s getting slapped, and the next he’s wandering into this bar on a half-seeded whim that it was deep enough in nowhere for him to be found. Which means he’s had to have met this bartender before in his civilian life if the connection was made. God, Jason can’t seem to place the connection no matter how hard he tries. He feels light headed and a little like he’s spiraling when a heavy hand is placed on his shoulder, the weight familiar and causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. 

“You ain’t gonna puke when you stand, are ya?”

Jason turns so violently to rip out of the hold that if he were anyone else he would have lost his balance, because that voice is oh-so-right but the words itself, the way that they mold on his tongue is wrong in every way and it’s making his heart pound in his chest. Jason doesn’t know what he’s expecting when his eyes catch with the person now in front of him. The cerulean hue is still just as devastatingly beautiful as he remembers it, they still sparkle with a hint of mischief, only now there’s something else there that he can’t quite place. It’s a sort of darkness that he’s never associated with  _ him _ before, one that’s inky and unforgiving, that promises to swallow him whole the longer that he stares. It’s chilling enough to actually make him shiver and the hairs on the back of his neck stand. The color is where the similarities stop. Now that the initial shock of blindsighted has faded, he can really take in the details for what they are. 

Where there was once sweeping raven locks, his head is recently shaved. There’s a scar running down through his eyebrow that leaves a gap in the hair. He isn’t standing with a calm poise that still somehow demands respect from every soul in the room, instead he’s slouched with his hands in the pockets of dingey looking jeans. He still has to look up at Jason, that’s something that the years haven't changed, but the way that he looks at Jason is entirely new. Whereas before there was something of pity in those eyes and at times disgust, now what he saw was keen interest. More specifically lust. 

Dick Grayson was outright leering at him with this look of what could only be described as a starving man, not trying to be subtle in the least bit with the way he was looking over his lips like he was being presented with a feast from the gods. With the way that Jason was staring, he must have gotten the notion that Jason was doing the same thing if the way his lips pulled up into a lecherous grin was anything to go by. 

“You good to go Ric?” Ric? He must have heard that wrong. Not unless this is some sort of elaborate undercover perona that he’s not had the privy of being aware of - which he never is. It doesn’t make sense. He’s seen Dick go deep under before - he’s done more than witness as he’s been apart of it even. He knows that the original Robin is truly talented in ways that he can never be, no matter how hard he tries, but this? This is something else. This is a new level entirely that has Jason feeling dumbstruck in ways he hasn’t felt since he was a pup. Ballsy, to go undercover in his own damn city with him being very publicly Bruce Wayne’s cop son, it didn’t exactly spell out the discrepancy that VICE was looking for. “Yeah, come on pretty boy, we’re getting kicked out.” Jason, stupid as he is, actually follows him out. He doesn’t know what he expected when they get outside to see an actual cab. Jason almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, knowing that to any passerby that it would be seen as nothing more than his suspected drunken state. To be not so delicately pushed into the backseat however isn’t it.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks as the car is started and he’s pulling out into the street. Jason has to admire his commitment to the role, even if it does raise a smidge of annoyance for how perfect the man is acting, even now. Who is even watching them? Dick wasn’t a fuck up, he wouldn’t allow for his stupid yellow cab to be bugged, and even if it was, there was plenty of ways to communicate it amongst birds. “All beauty and no brains huh? Come on gorgeous, anything in there?” He just keeps talking, keeps calling him these stupid names like he knows that it gets under his skin, never giving a single hint that he’s trying to do anything more. Jason longs to tune it out.

Again, he didn’t seem privy to that knowledge. Figures. Jason was just so tired, so thoroughly exhausted from the inside out that he didn’t want to play these games, didn’t want to stroke the perfect Robin’s ego. So he acted as he did whenever he felt threatened; he bared his teeth in a sneer. “As if you don’t know.”

Any fool who knows Dick Grayson, truly knows what’s underneath that dazzling smile and perky quips knows that he isn’t a patient man. Jason didn’t fall for that nice guy act for a second, not when he was so accustomed to the smell of rage. Dick? Underneath that strawberry-mint scent there was a souring of deep seeded, and barely controlled rage. People were often so swept up in the sweetness of the alpha’s scent they missed the notes of danger in it. They didn’t see, or perhaps they didn’t want to see the flare of his temper and the entire forests that would burn when he truly lost it. Jason knows exactly how vile he can be when his patience has worn thin because he’s been on the ugly side of it since his first days in pixie boots. Over the years it’s tempered into a simmering between them, still far too delicate to consider it anything more than obligatory as the second alpha of their shared pack - not that Jason has ever fancied himself being a part of that mess. 

So why on god’s green earth does the resounding growl freeze him in place?

Jason knows that he’s pushed his luck, it’s one of the only things that he’s truly good at. Still, he pride himself in knowing just how much he could push this alpha until retaliation took place - almost like a game between the two, pushing back to the brink and backing off, just to start up all over again, to see who would break first into a series of fists. It was cathartic. Dick, perfect as he was, would never admit that he needed it, needed it just as much as Jason. Needed to attack in a blind rage that would leave them both bloody and purple, knowing that it would be without true consequence. Fuck, if Jason didn’t know better he would say that Dick needed it even more than he did. Needless to say, he didn’t think that they would meet their breaking point so close. 

Jason was.. He was thrilled. Whereas before he wanted to just be dropped off without any word between them, to forget about the night just as he was trying to forget the last week, now he felt a thrum of electricity pulse through his body when the low rumble of a growl never truly stopped. Now he was quite literally on the edge of his seat as the car was being pulled into a shadowy parking garage, one that screamed murder and drug hotspot. Jason’s body had been vibrating with all of the negative energy for days now, and when he growled right back, high and challenging he was practically euphoric with the murder glare that burned straight through him from the rearview mirror. Jason didn’t even notice the car stopped until the alpha was half leaned over the seat to meet him with his own teeth bared in a warning gesture. 

“Are you done acting like a prissy little bitch?”

This wasn’t the first insult that Dick’s ever hurled his way, but it was the first of it’s kind. Dick, no matter how much in a frenzied rage, always kept his insults calculated in a way that would manipulate and cut in the worst ways. He was thoughtful in that way. Undeterred, Jason leaned forward to meet his sneer. 

“And if I’m not? What are you going to do,” Jason paused just long enough to take in the way that Dick’s shoulders shifted to outright hostile, he snorted at the clear show of warning power. “Call daddy and tell on me for hurting your feelings?” It was a cheap shot, but a sure one at that. Nothing quite got Dick riled up like insinuating that he was still in Bruce’s shadow. 

Quick as a whip, the alpha did not disappoint. “Is that what that pretty mouth is for? Pleasing daddy when you get too mouthy?” 

That was -

What the fuck was that? Jason’s face was on fire, out of embarrassment or anger he didn’t even know. This was new for the two of them. Dick really seemed intent on throwing him for every loop, first with the way that he looked at Jason at the bar, and now with his crude speech. It however, wasn’t the first time that he’s said it. No, matter of fact he distinctly remembers being in a position not unlike this one (though, the few inches between them was with him being towered over), still in his uniform after patrol and barely keeping back from clawing the other’s eyes out. He remembers the way that the former Robin looked at him then, he remembers the cold stare as he was being placed as nothing more than trash. He remembers the laugh and the way that it echoed off of the cave walls.

_ How often do you have to offer yourself to get a few crumbs? How often do you crawl into Bruce’s bed to thank him for letting you stay here? You going to get on your knees for me too for letting you have my handme downs?  _

He’s just as infuriated now as he was back then. Jason knows that he’s a pity case, that Batman didn’t leave a skinny ‘mega on the street for the same reason why the bartender didn’t let him walk home; he’s a liability. 

Dick must take his silence as defeat, because he snorts. “So it’s true then? That mouth really only has one purpose.”

“Fuck you” Jason thinks theres enough venom in the two words to poison himself, but of course, of fucking course that only makes the alpha smile, flashing his perfect pearly teeth like a taunt of victory. 

“I didn’t know male ‘mega were so one dimensional.” 

Jason’s had it. He’s lunging from his seat before he even knows what he’s doing. It’s not his finest moment, considering that he can barely get over the top of the seat before he’s being grabbed and his momentum is used against him. He doesn’t get much fight in when Dick is pressing his face into the cold glass of the car window, arms straining behind his back and the suggestion of teeth scraping the back of his neck. The smarter person would stay still at the threat of being scruffed, try to make themself as small and placid as possible. Jason on the other hand, struggles against the hold with all his might. He’s bigger and stronger than Dick, logically he should be able to throw the male right off and pummel him black and blue, but the space is too tight, and he’s being pressed into like there’s a fucking boulder at his back. The airy laugh at the back of his neck only makes him struggle more, getting an inch away just to be smashed back into the glass with enough force to shake the car. 

“Jesus Christ, the pretty ones are always fucking crazy!” Despite his words, despite their situation, he sounds delighted. As if this is the most fun that he’s had in months. 

“Don’t call me that!” Hard to sound the least bit threatening when you're being muffled by car glass. 

“Crazy?” He asks it like he can’t believe it, and he’s laughing again as he scrapes his teeth over his neck again when Jason thrashes particularly hard. “Baby, you’re a fucking batshit.”

It’s too much. It’s way too much and he bit off far more than he can chew if he thought that he could deal with Dick fucking Grayson coming off the deep end. He’s bucking wildly trying to get the man off of him, in the process knocking his head back into the other’s. That seems to do the trick in pulling the last seam free. One moment he’s uncontainable and he can practically taste freedom on his tongue and the next there’s teeth in the back of his neck, hard and digging in deep enough that he feels the initial burst and pool of liquid stream down and into his shirt. 

Dick’s never - not even when - 

Christ, it hurts. It hurts in every fibre and nerve of his being. It’s excruciatingly painful in a way that makes him think he might throw up and his vision flashes hot white before going black. Jason can’t see anything, he can’t feel anything but the teeth in his neck and the continuous rumble against his skin that’s begging him to act out. His stupid biology is rendering him useless. It’s keeping from endangering himself further.

Though, that’s not quite it.

No, omega can still struggle after a thorough scruffing in extreme circumstances. They may end up with their neck torn but they can get away. What’s going on with Jason’s body now is muscle memory, instinct ingrained in him from his days as a pup. Because even when his neck is released and the growl stops, Jason is stark still, not even letting himself tremble, let alone breathe. Scruffing is meant to calm unruly or panicking pups, meant to ease their body and mind so that they can be properly cared for. Scruffing an omega is meant to keep them placid, but coherent. When done properly it’s meant to be harmless. Used to calm or in the heat of a mating. Of course, it didn’t take long for that to be abused. Omega can scruff alpha pups without any problem, scruffing an adult however is tricky and more often than not a catalyst rather than a neutralizer. Only alpha can scruff their kind with the same effect. It’s meant to establish hierarchy in packs, to settle battles, because only once blood is drawn does the alpha truly yield. 

This bite to Jason? It takes him back to the same filthy apartment floor, face pressed into stains and new puddles like a dog being scolded for peeing in the house. It reminds him of how his neck was always in a state of tenderness that he couldn’t turn his head without the scabbing coming undone. It reminds him to close his eyes, to say it wasn’t him that this was happening to, and let them take what they wanted, with the promise that it would be over soon, because if he moved it was only going to make it worse. If he whined, it was only going to get worse. 

So he waits, not an ounce of fight in him. He waits until there isn’t a wait at his back and even then he doesn’t move an inch. It’s a test to see if he’ll be obedient and he isn’t falling for the bait. Jason is going to stay put until he is told otherwise. He doesn’t think that it’s going to come when the silence stretches on. He’s not being groped, there isn’t a hand in his hair to bare his throat further, there isn’t any growling, and his clothing is still in place. 

“Are you done?” 

Jason doesn’t answer him, still frozen in place to even nod his head. He doesn’t think that he can speak even if he wanted to. He’s thankful that the alpha doesn’t seek any clarification, he’s even more thankful when he’s dismissed, albeit awkwardly. He waits another few seconds just to be sure that he’s really allowed to leave and when he’s positive that he isn’t going to end up with teeth in his neck again, Jason is pushing through the door quicker than he’s ever moved before. His legs are shaky, his limbs feel numb but he doesn’t think about any of that as he runs as fast as his legs will take him. It’s aimless and it’s desperate, flight taking over fight as he stops for nothing. The whole time he’s terrified that he’s going to hear the sound of footsteps behind him, the sound of feet hopping from rooftop to rooftop. It never comes. Jason’s already halfway to the highway when he realises that he’s running for city limits. It’s too late to go back and get his bike (if it’s even still there), and yet he can’t bring himself to care as he just keeps going. Keeps running like a wild animal, with his lungs aflame and his entire body screaming in protest. Bludhaven is fifteen miles from Gotham and ten from Bristol. Jason doesn’t remember slowing down for any of it. For once in his life he thanks the pit for giving him endurance, lest he end up dead on the side of the highway. 

He reaches Gotham and isn’t even sure what to do with himself. Doesn’t know if he should head for one of his safehouses, or if that would be the stupid move when he can be ambushed along the way. For as much talent as he has, for as much training in disappearing, Jason feels like he’s flailing to grab for any sort of lifeline. His hormones are still everywhere and making his mind muddled. He wonders if he should go find Bruce, it’s still early enough for him to be on patrol - scraps that immediately. There’s no reason for the bat to want to help Jason out of a mess of his own creation. There’s no reason why he would ever take his side over his precious first son’s. 

And that must say a lot about his state, that he even thinks about running home to Bruce. Jesus, Dick was right about him. Left a scared and wounded pup and he wanted to run home to daddy. But it’s not his home. It hasn’t been for half a decade.  _ Maybe it never was home _ . He’s been rendered sober for what feels like hours now, but the bite has left him stumbling, his legs barely keeping him up with their exertion. He looks every part of the lowlifes mucking about in these parts. Distantly he’s thankful that he’s somehow evaded pointed ears and birds alike as he navigates the slums, having to redo his retinal and print scans twice because he just cannot stop shaking when he finally gets to one of his places. 

The moment the door is closed, his legs give way and he sobs into the cold wood. He’s shaking so violently from the lull of adrenaline and the ghosts of another life haunting and possessing him in a way he’s never let it since shooting out his grave. He’d promised himself that he’d never allow it again, that the green waters of lazarus washed it away from his soul just as it washed away the scars at the back of his neck. Not even Talia had laid teeth to his flesh. 

Jason is twenty three years old and he’s crying into his floor like a wounded pup, whining and calling out for comfort that isn’t going to come. The trembling isn’t doing any favors for his sore muscles, and when he tries to push up off of the floor he ends up aggravating the throbbing wound. Jason crawls pathetically to the couch, not even trying to make it to the bedroom. He should clean the bite or at least slap a bandage on it, but he can’t be bothered to do more than to bury his face into the cushions and cry until he’s so utterly spent he’s falling into unconsciousness. This was not the man he grew up to be. This is not a man that his pup-hood self would be proud of. 

When he opens his eyes again, he’s stiff everywhere. Shifting to get his face out of the back of the couch for some air is enough to have him hissing, all the while there is a steady throb, throb, throb at the back of his neck. He needs to clean it. It’s already at risk of infection with all the sweat from his running and the unknown bacteria in Dick’s mouth. Thinking about touching it is making his gut swim. He’s going to give himself five more minutes to mope on this couch. Just five more minutes before he gets in the shower and gets the answers that he needs. He’ll drag the old bat out of bed kicking and screaming if he has to. 

The shower does not bring him the relief that he thought it would. This place hasn’t been used in months so the water takes time to heat, and the water pressure is shit. Still, it feels like needles are being poked into the back of his neck when he finally steps into the spray. If the color of the water is any indication, it’s definitely infected. Jason raises his hand to bite into the side of it, taking one deep breath before he’s using a fresh bar of soap to scrub the bite with vigor. He whines and breaks the skin of his hand but god help him, he doesn’t care with the way he thinks he’s going to pass out from the pain. Only when the water runs rust does he stop and bonelessly finish his shower. He can’t see where the bite starts and where it ends, can’t really determine the size with unreliable touch at this point, and settles for setting gauze down on the worst of what he knows and wraps the entirety of his neck just to be sure. 

Getting dressed is an awkward affair. Moving isn’t his friend for multiple reasons let alone the fact he doesn’t have anything that will sufficiently cover up the evidence of the bandaging. His original plan was to get into gear, but just looking at that skin tight armor and he throws the idea out the window faster than he’d throw himself. A soft grey hoodie is the compromise, thought getting it over the tender area without fucking up the bandanges is like delicate procedure. Getting on the rest of his clothing (and the concealed holster tucked into his jeans) is a bit of a struggle, but he manages.He’s careful to pull up his hood and tie the strings loosely to keep it in place with his neck covered. 

Before he left the clock read one, and if he remembers correctly, Duke’s school has early release on Wednesdays at about twelve thirty. Duke should already be out on patrol by now, and if not he’ll certainly be by the time that he gets to the right neighborhood. 

Jason likes Duke. He’s a good kid, one of the honest and pure ones if not a little snarky. Duke isn’t afraid to call them on their bullshit just as he isn’t afraid to risk his life for anyone in need. In another life maybe they could be friends, or rather Jason would see him and cherish the young alpha as his younger brother. Now however? They’re civil, at least. Duke doesn’t wish harm on him and Jason wouldn’t lay a finger on him in return. He’s pleasant (for the most part), Jason would much rather deal with him than the majority of the bat wearing assholes the city offers. 

His intuition proved right when he sees a bright yellow figure trolling the Gotham skies. Thank god the kid operated during sun hours, they wouldn’t be interrupted by the nocturnal crew. He doesn’t have his helmet thus his com, and the genius he is left his phone at the safe house, so he has to get his attention some other way. He’s too sore to start a petty crime and frankly he isn’t in the mood for that talk. It’s suspicious as hell to be following shuffling along and keeping his gaze to the sky to follow but Jason doesn’t have much choice. Maybe it’s luck, or maybe it’s mercy that Duke swoops in about three blocks away to stop a robbery - really a robbery in broad daylight - of a convenience store. Jason isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He takes the opportunity in stride, climbing the fire escape of a neighboring apartment complex to the roof. The whole thing is over before he even gets to the ledge, which is either very impressive or very, very sad on the robber’s part. There’s already sirens in the distance and that’s cue enough for The Signal to bounce.

There isn’t anything up here to throw, aside from someone’s potted plant on the below balcony and Jason really isn’t that much of an asshole. He has to act quick if he wants Duke’s attention before he leaves, and somehow hurling himself over the edge like a damsel tells him that he’s only going to be a splat to clean up. Jason has more respect than to jump about screeching his head off, the last thing they need is Signal to be caught communicating with a shady figure in a hood after acting like a crackhead. The answer is simple, though it’s not been done in a long time. So long that as Jason cups his hands at his mouth for the Robin call, he’s not even sure if he’s done it right. That is until Duke’s head snaps up and zeroes in on him within an instant of hearing it. Jason repeats the call again just to confirm that he was indeed called upon before he backed away from the ledge to get out of the direct public eye. Duke does not disappoint. 

To be fair, if Jason was in Duke’s position, he’d be just as shocked (and wary) as the teen when he lands on the roof, keeping a safe distance between the two of them. “Hood?” He asks like he’s unsure if Jason really came to see him, and god dammit he’s fond of this kid. 

“Hey bumble bat, fancy seeing you here.” 

Duke makes a bit of a sour face, but he doesn’t protest more than that. Instead he steps closer like he’s afraid of them being overheard. “No ones seen you in months,” He starts, and if Jason had to bet, he’s looking over him right now for any sign of injury. 

Jason waves it off like they were talking about the weather. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to stay in touch apparently.” 

He knows that Duke is saying that because it’s the right thing to say, because it’s been ingrained as a bat that they are to always maintain even the barest amount of contact. A rule he’d like to point out starting after a certain someone’s death. Still, he’d like to pretend that he meant it as he missed Jason. Small insecurities. 

“Details yellow, details. Pleasant as you are, I need to know something.” Duke doesn’t exactly close in on himself, but he doesn’t seem as open as he did a minute ago. “What the hell is going on with N? His latest rebellious act to be a complete fuckwad?”

This time Duke’s reaction is immediately known, with the way that his entire body goes stiff and he quickly looks around like Jason’s just said Beetleguise. On some level he expected a degree of defensiveness on Dick’s behalf, however Duke looks more.. Frightened than agitated. It’s putting him on edge. Jason has a million scenarios going on in his head as to why Duke would have that reaction. Was he not allowed to speak about this? God, did Dick hurt him? Jason was already stepping forward and grabbing onto the male’s arms before Duke had time to move back. 

“He didn’t fucking touch you did he? I swear to god if he scruffed you -”

“What? Ja- Hood. What the hell, let go of me!” Jason does, but only begrudgingly. He doesn’t take a step back and he’s still trying to look over Duke as if he willed enough he could see right through the armor. Duke surprises him yet again by letting up his visor, revealing big worried pools of golden honey. Now he’s confused again, because this wasn’t how it works. Duke acts revolted just by mentioning Dick, and Jason’s protective instinct is making him worried? None of this makes sense and he feels like he’s the horrible butt of a joke that everyone knows but him. It doesn’t help that Duke doesn’t even say anything, just keeps looking at Jason like  _ he’s _ the one to be protected. An understanding settles in his features, and now Duke can’t look at him. Duke doesn’t - he can’t see the wound can he? It’s not bleeding or -

“No one told you, did they?” Duke just looks so exasperated, not even upset, just tired. He knows the feeling, he’d like to joke about it if the aura around them wasn’t so deathly serious. Jason is really trying to be patient as he waits for whatever bomb he’s about to drop, but now he’s starting to get annoyed. Of fucking course they left him out of the loop. Why would they do anything different? If he was furious about Duke getting hurt, now he’s starting to boil over. 

“Listen, if you’d just fucking tell me-”

Dukes raises his hand, gives him this look that Jason can’t even place. 

“You need to talk to B. I can’t give you all the information.” _ I don’t want to _ . He doesn’t say it, but Jason can see the look in his eyes. Jason can’t blame him. If he could shovel off hard to swallow pills for Bruce to give, he’d do it all the time. 

“Sure, yeah. Fuck, okay I’ll head over.”

Duke’s actions outright throw him on his ass. He expected for Duke to lower his visor and be off again. Maybe, maybe on a good day give him a pat on the shoulder and be off. Instead the teen actually brings Jason into an embrace, and not one of those side ‘bro hugs’ that men do. An actual embrace that the little shit has to know is playing on his instincts with the way that he rubs his nose at Jason’s jaw. Fuck, how the hell is he supposed to resist tthat? If Duke snitched on him, he’d say that it’s from the scruffing. He’d never admit that he actually wanted to hold Duke to himself, to rub lick his cheek like a dam does their pup since he couldn’t properly scent the young alpha with his uniform in the way (it’s not like he liked playing the pack omega, or ever suspected Duke a needy pup). At least it pleased the alpha if the little sound he made was tell enough. There was that sad little look on his face again when Duke pulled away, even if he smiled as he got his visor back in place. 

Duke was picking up the flair of the bats if the way he looked over at Jason from the lede was anything to go off of. “Don’t disappear on us again.”

What a wear thing to say. Jason scrunched his nose at it, chalking it up to nothing more than Duke being shaken up still from whatever caused him to play affectionate pup. “That’s a lot to ask.” He called back just as Duke made his leave, watching the bright yellow until it was nothing more than a spot in the distance. Meeting up with Duke wasn’t completely fruitless, at least now he knew whatever was happening, he wasn’t the only one fucked over by it. 

That, he didn’t want to think about during the drive out to 1313 Mockingbird Lane. The thirteen miles out of Gotham wasn’t enough time to mull over all the possibilities in his head. It probably only made things worse. Especially when he was not greeted at the gate after his call, having to instead punch in his entry code (surprised that the damn thing even still worked). Alfred not being home was risky at best. The old beta wouldn’t be there for Jason to hide behind his coattails if Bruce was being truly abominable. He also wouldn’t get any tea to calm his nerves. Jason thought about turning his bike around and coming back another time, instead being guilted by that same sad face that Duke had given him on the rooftop. 

He ought to rough up the teen for manipulating him with his big eyes and pup-like affection. Christ, he was going soft in his old age. 

For longer than he cared to admit he stood at the steps, not moving but merely waiting. Waiting for the door to burst open to reveal a furious bat for daring to step foot onto his grounds. Waiting for the stairs to grow arms and drag him under. Waiting for.. Anything. 

When nothing happened, only then did Jason make his way up the stairs. Only then did he reach out for the recently polished brass like it was going to bite him. He didn’t know how much he wished for the door to be unlocked until it gave way. Jason held his breath as he poked his head inside, looking around for a sign of life before daring to step foot inside. Alfred definitely wasn’t home if he wasn’t appearing out of thin air now. That did nothing as he still wiped his feet and took off his hood. Jason wasn’t about to face Alfred’s wrath for refusing to follow the house rules. Just because he wasn’t home didn’t mean he wouldn’t know. 

Now it was about finding a sign of life in the manor. Instinct led him to the kitchen, where he found a note in neat script, informing the house that should Alfred be missed he was at the market and would return shortly. Hovering his hand over the range and kettle came back cold, meaning that the note was from some time ago. The search would continue. No one in the formal sitting room, and the entertainment room was just as empty. Jason even spared a glance out the window and into the gardens to see if anyone had wandered outside for some of the rare sunlight. The library was cold and looked as if it hadn’t been used in some time, what a waste. Jason was stalling, checking rooms in the older wing just to avoid going to the one place that he knew would be the most likely inhabited. He was dreading actually having to see someone, and needed just a little more time to get the courage to face them (he may also be holding out for Alfred). It was outright ridiculous that he’d so much as checked his old room for a clue. 

Jason would regret that, after all this time the place still remained unchanged like a goddamn shrine to the dead boy who once inhabited the room. It was creepy and it made his skin crawl to see. That would be his defense as to why the brush at his leg had him stumbling into the room to draw his weapon. To do what? Shoot the silly little cat sitting there with a smug look on his face? Jason was far too paranoid. Gun back in it’s holster and a purring spoiled cat in his arms, Jason made way for the one room he was avoiding. 

“Don’t judge me.” He whispered to the cat as they stood stark in the hallway. 

He could leave now, leave and no one would even know that he was there until they checked the gate records. He could get on his bike right now and disappear from the city entirely, get himself lost for a few weeks until it was nothing more than a blip in the back of his mind. He’d forget about why he was running in the first place, forget about the slap, the bite, and that stupid sad look on Duke Thomas’ face. 

_ Don’t disappear on us again _

Alfred couldn’t be too far out. If he just waited a little longer, played with the cat or found a book from the library, he’d get his information from an unbiased and reliable source. A very discreet source if he asked. The cat in his arms must have grown impatient with his stalling as it jumped out of his arms to scamper off god knows where. Now he really was alone to face the music. Not even  _ the cat _ wanted to be around Jason. 

“Oh my god” Jason groaned, his head thumping against the study door. If he didn’t have a throbbing reminder at his neck, he wouldn’t have even bothered. This would be the last time that he’d ever listen to Duke. He would never hold the alpha, or scent him again. This commitment was too much of a burden than anything else! It’s like a really shitty bandaid. The quicker he gets it done, the quicker he can get out of here. 

He’s almost glad that there isn’t anyone in the study, until he’s messing with the grandfather clock to start trudging down the stairs. He’s not halfway down when he hears the sound of someone training, the contact of whatever they’re hitting bouncing off of the cave walls. If he’s lucky, Bruce will be too sweaty and tired to throw any good hits at him. Jason isn’t normally lucky, but it’s worth the thought. 

There isn’t anyone at the computer bank or the conference table. No one’s working on any of the vehicles or near the armory.There’s just the repeated sound of contact off in the training area. Rip off the bandaid. 

Jason not so subtly scents the air, trying to pick up on the scent of patchouli and spring water, finding only residual notes. That still leaves three possible suspects. Tim doesn’t smell much like an alpha either, more like sweet basil and peaches (even if his scent is quite commonly staled with exhaustion). He’s not really gotten to scent Cassandra all that much, but he thinks he remembers picking up something earthy like wet sandstone, it’s a really pretty scent and Jason likes it, he just doesn’t know it very well. Like before he can’t smell anything more than residual bits and pieces, with the way that whoever is training, their scent should be almost overpowering with the closer that he gets. That only leaves one person, and Jason is picking up his pace considerably. He’s excited to get the baby alpha into view, and even more excited to see the moment that they picked up on his presence. His little nose was in the air and the next moment there's a pup barreling into his arms.

“ _ Akhi _ ” It’s said in a sigh, telling him that there really isn’t anyone else in the house if he was given such a grand reception. 

Damian’s not clung to him like this in years, and he’d question it if he wasn’t so focused on burying his nose into the sweaty hair and swipe his cheek over his head in proper scenting. Jason could almost weep with the fact that Damain’s sweet milky scent is fading to make room for the spicy cardamom. It’s only been a year since he’s last seen him and he’s already smelling less like a puppy and more into the fierce alpha that he’s destined to be. 

Jason’s unabashedly most thankful for these little moments with Damian. Leaving behind the pup to return to Gotham was one of the toughest things he’s ever done, as well as being one of his biggest regrets. Thinking about how much time they lost, about how different their lives would have been if he stayed in the league is too painful to bear. Just like the fact that now he doesn’t have to crouch down to hold Damian. He’s still tiny (not nearly as small as Jason was at his age) for his age, and if Jason had any say in it he’d take after his mother by staying lithe and small. It isn’t likely, not with the way that Damian is looking less and less like the al Ghul pup in his nest and more like a distinguished Wayne. As much as he cherishes this moment, as much as he wants to take Damian and flee, Jason does have a purpose for being here. 

He’s relieved to find that he still growls like a puppy when Jason pulls away, that he still looks young and haughty with a scowl on his face. 

They’re alone, but even the walls have ears. When Jason speaks it’s in league dialect for only Damian to hear.  _ “I need to ask you something Habibi, and I need you to be honest with me.”  _ Jason’s heart positively jumps from his chest with the way the emerald eyes light up with pride in being trusted.  _ “What is going on with Grayson?” _

Damian delivers it cold and calculated like he’s harping off an incident report. Jason knows exactly what the original Robin means to Damian, even if it makes him green with envy, he was so silently grateful that someone had stepped in and loved him for the precious soul that he is. As an alpha, Dick could connect to Dami in ways that Jason couldn’t pretend to understand. He would be the first alpha to show him affection outside of Jason’s nest, picking up the slack where Bruce couldn’t begin to hold a candle. He’s able to set aside his distaste for the alpha that raised his pup when Jason could no longer. 

Rightfully, he’s furious that no one thought it wise to tell him about the gunshot, about the new Ric Grayson (with a k, his baby alpha was quick to say with a scrunch of his nose). He doesn’t however let that color his actions. He keeps his voice low and calming, running his fingers through the thick black hair in a way that he knows comforts Damian. The pup is putting up one hell of front even if he doesn’t need to, more or less a coping mechanism without having anyone to confide in. Jason’s stepped out on everyone else; he should be ashamed that he stepped out on Damian too. 

Predictably Damian doesn’t allow Jason to fret over him for long, redirecting all of his attention to the bandages around his neck. It’s hard to see him as anything more than the bossy little toddler he cared for when Damian is demanding to see his wound, going as far as stomping his foot. Jason doesn’t want to show him. He doesn’t need the pup’s grief to be overwhelmed with his fiery ire. Alfred’s startling presence and tutting isn’t anything to say no to. Damian doesn’t listen when he tells him to stay put while they go to the med bay, determined and stubborn as ever when he follows them with more demands than either of them care to keep track of. 

Jason finds himself shying away from the beta’s hands when the bandaging is gone and he’s left with only the gauze. Suddenly he’s the same embarrassed pup, sitting here in pixie boots after being chided for trying to hide his injury. Based on the twitch of fingers behind him, Alfred is not impressed with what he sees. He doesn’t say anything as he cleans and redresses the wound with much more consideration, but that’s damning enough. Alfred doesn’t need to say anything when the squeeze to his shoulder when he’s finished is enough. No amount of Alfred’s words comacitate the baby alpha. He’s snarling out threats from the high heavens to the depths below, pressing for a name of  _ who dared _ to do such a thing. 

It takes both Bruce and Tim’s appearance minutes later to keep the pup from going off on a blood hunt, his sword having to be pried from his hands. Even when he’s being herded out by an unmoved Cassandra, Damian is spewing promises of bloodshed on Jason’s behalf. It’s almost endearing to know the lengths Damian will go for him. 

Bruce looks less than enamoured.The fight, since that’s where they’re both comfortable. Shouting at each other until they can’t breathe, Bruce wondering why he only comes around to stir up trouble, and Jason wondering why he’s such an insufferable asshole. Tim’s doing his best to act like he’s ignoring them from where he is, fingers clacking across the keyboard. It isn’t until he tells Bruce who exactly the bite is from that he finally goes silent. 

Jason’s really fucked up this time. Bruce just makes him so fucking angry. There isn’t even a word made up for it yet. It came out like vomit, and while a part of him was smug with the look on Bruce’s face that his perfect son isn’t so perfect, his nausea of having three sets of pitying eyes on him throws him right back into furious. He doesn’t say it, but he damn well fucking implies that Jason must have done something to make Ric snap. Blames him for the chunk of flesh that was almost ripped out of his throat. 

He can’t believe him, but somehow he didn’t expect anything less. He doesn’t dignify Bruce with an answer, merely storms out of the cave and out of the manor. Jason should say goodbye to Damian, make sure he knows that he isn’t being abandoned, that there is just too much damage here to stay. 

Like Roy said, he’s a coward. 

Damian no doubt will find him when night falls, that is if he isn’t benched. 

_ Stay away from him _

It’s not just Bruce’s warning in his head, Jason can hear himself parrot it. It’s the first bit of sound advice that he’s gotten from the bastard in years. 

It’s only natural that Jason’s doing exactly the opposite, ripping down the highway to Bludhaven at speeds that would kill him if his hands weren’t steady. The sun is setting by the time that he’s arriving. Jason already feels anxious as he makes his way to every single safehouse of the bird that he knows. Everyone of them is empty, without so much as a spec to indicate that they were anything other than vacant. As he’s making the rounds he lets his anger stew. 

This happened not three days after he left the last time; they’d kept Jason in the dark for over a year. No one, absolutely no one even thought it important to tell him that his predecessor almost fucking died. That he was walking around without any of his memories, with a new name, and wanting nothing to do with any of them. Really, it’s their fault that he got bit last night. If they would have just told him, he would have known to avoid Ric. Even if he was proving Bruce’s point of abusing this information by seeking out the alpha. It was different. Now Jason had a vendetta to collect on. If he as Dick Grayson scruffed him, it was because of their bad blood. It was because he was an alpha higher in their pack, showing him exactly where Jason’s place was. Ric, some random cabbie scruffing him? He had no fucking right. 

It’s how Jason justified going back to the same bar at nightfall. The bartender was clearly familiar with Ric, which meant he was a frequent flyer. From everything he’d gathered, Ric was not one to make friends. Jason keeps his hood up,orders himself a water because he wants to be level headed whenever Ric decides to show his face. This time when he’s approached by alpha he’s merely waving them away without any real bite, intent on staying vigilant. Apparently it isn’t enough if someone still manages to sneak up on him and press the length of their body into his back. He’s about to throw the very bold and very stupid person over his shoulder when there’s a husky growl and a hot tongue running up the shell of his ear. They’d already be on the floor with his glass in their throat if Jason didn’t know who exactly that growl belonged to. 

***

“What brings you back here nutcase?” He’s insulting Jason, the way he’s whispering it however is like a sin, lips pressed close to his ear to make sure that only Jason hears. Ric isn’t deterred by Jason’s bulk, or the fact that he’s a stranger, not with the way that the hand is sliding up his thigh to give an appreciative squeeze. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jason hisses back, going to slap the hand away only to have his wrist grabbed in the process. For someone who apparently didn’t know who they were, Ric certainly kept his reflexes. 

He’s ignored. The free hand is now on his ass, having no shame whatsoever to slip into his back pocket to grope as much as he can. “Let’s get out of here.” He whispers instead. 

Let the record state that he isn’t leaving with this man because he’s actually interested in the alpha; he just doesn’t want to leave any room for witnesses for when Ric’s body shows up at the morgue. Ric is gracious enough to allow him to sit in the passenger seat this time around, grin positively filthy and way too toothy to be considered anything less as he watches Jason walk over and get inside. Ric’s making his murder too easy with the way he reaches over to keep groping him, driving them back to the same shadowy parking garage that they were in the night before. 

The car is in park and Jason is ready to strike when he’s suddenly being pulled over by the white tuff of his hair sticking out of his hood, Ric isn’t slow and he doesn’t seem to be wasting time with the way that he bites at Jason’s jaw, tugging off his hood in order to mouth at more skin. He isn’t gentle for even a second, digging in his teeth enough to bruise but with enough restraint not to break skin. 

“Couldn’t stay away could you?” The question is hard to understand when he’s talking with Jason’s skin in between his teeth and the way that his head is swimming on how the fuck they’d even got here. Jason is here to get his pound of flesh, not have it taken from him by an alpha who couldn’t think past his next knot. 

“That’s not -” It’s hardly even a valiant effort when there’s fingers being stuffed in his mouth and he’s being told to shut up. His fingers taste salty and bitter, and for the life of him Jason hasn’t figured out why the hell he hasn’t bit them off already. They’re pressing hard down on his tongue, slipping out just enough to drag down his lower lip before being shoved back into his mouth so fast he almost chokes. 

Ric doesn’t stop biting at every patch of skin that he can get, the hand that isn’t in his mouth is blindly groping everywhere at his body, like he doesn’t know where he wants to grab first. He doesn’t give Jason the liberty of protesting the hand traveling under his hoodie when he starts to fuck his fingers into his mouth. 

“Oh, look here,” The glee in his voice is sickly sweet, like foe masquerading as friend. “Such a slut that you aren’t even wearing anything underneath.”

Jason starts to squirm when the slimy tongue drags up his neck and to his ear. The chuckle followed is sinister, Ric’s biting at the fleshy bit of his lobe with tandem. “Is that why you were waiting for me? To show me how much you want it, that you’re not wearing anything underneath? Is it the same here too?” Jason squirming halts when the hand is at waist of his jeans.The intensity of the glare he wants to give is rendered useless with the way that his face is flushed and Ric’s slowed down his fingers to a tediously slow pace to watch his spit slick fingers drag in and out of his mouth. He likely doesn’t even see the look that Jason’s giving him when he once again presses down hard onto his tongue, prying Jason’s mouth open enough so that he can lean forward and spit into his mouth. 

There’s no time to spit it back out or to even pull away when the fingers are being crammed back into his mouth and thrusting the spit deep into his mouth. It’s absolutely disgusting and he can’t imagine why Ric would do it for any other reason than to degrade him. Ric takes advantage of his shock by shucking the fabric up to his armpits, telling Jason to hold it there, and  _ he does _ ,Ric is already pushing his back into the door with the way he’s leaning into Jason to get his mouth around a nipple. Jason’s startled sound is muffled by the fingers in his mouth, and he’s met with a growl around the nub. 

“ They say ‘mega have the best tits,” God, Jason just wishes that he would stop talking already. It’s enough that there’s teeth scraping at the bud, it’s too much to hear the voice of Dick Grayson talking dirty to him. He isn’t kissing Jason’s skin, more mouthing at it sloppily as he makes his way to the other side, this time tugging at the nipple until Jason is whining pathetically around the fingers. “But you aren’t even good enough for that much.” 

Instead of pushing Ric away, Jason finds that he wants to argue with him. He wants to protest that he’s an omega doesn’t mean that he’s going to magically sprout a rack. He wants to berate Ric for not paying attention in sex ed, that male omega are only soft in the chest when they are feeding a pup, and even then it’s not heavy and prominent in the way that a female’s chest is. Ric is such a dumbass that it’s laughable. The fact is, Jason doesn’t do any of this. He doesn’t get out of this easily escapable position and he doesn’t bite down on the fingers in his mouth. Jason is still holding up his hoodie for Ric and he’s flushed from his face down to his chest because Jason  _ already knows  _ that he’s not good enough. He  _ knows _ that he’s not worth much, male omega or not. Dick has told him just as much in the past, Ric is just reaffirming it. 

Ric, bored of his chest, moves back up. Jason’s starting to drool around his fingers as he pushes them as far back into his throat as he can go. Jason doesn’t gag, and that’s what seems to catch his interest again. “You’re made for having things in your mouth, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t need to be able to see to know what’s coming next with the sound of the zipper and the shucking of fabric. His nose is assaulted with aroused alpha, and it’s only when Ric is pulling him down by hooking his fingers behind his teeth to shove his face into his erection that he notices that Ric doesn’t smell like strawberries and mint. There isn’t any hint of the sweetness under the pungent smell of arousal and cedar. It’s what really seals the deal for Jason; that this really isn’t Dick, but a stranger wearing  _ his  _ Robin’s face. It’s why when the reddened tip is pressed to his lips he keeps them shut until there’s fingers pressing into the tender wound at his neck. Jason barely gasps before his mouth his being stuffed, Ric not stopping until his nose is pressed into his pelvis, and he holds Jason there with a hand at the back of his head for god knows how long, enough that when he pulls out all the way Jason is coughing and gasping for breath just for the cock to be shoved back into his mouth. 

It’s taking everything in Jason not to gag, his eyes are squeezed shut tight and he’s trying to focus all of his energy on breathing through his nose. “God, look at that. Just made for sucking cock.” It takes everything in him to block out those words. He’s reaching out to place his hands on Ric’s hips in effort to get some sort of handle, and once again that hand is pressing right into the indents left behind by his teeth. Jason whimpers - he tries to at least - until he’s pulled off. 

“Take a breath” Ric instructs, and Jason isn’t stupid to refuse. He’s hardly inhaled when the cock is back in his mouth, hot and heavy on his tongue, hips chasing every pull of his hair. “Come on, you can do better than that” Jason’s embarrassed to be chided like this, the shame blooming in his chest and giving way to an angry horde of goosebumps to bolt across his skin. This time when he’s pulled off he doesn’t need to be told to take a breath, he’s doing it the second that his mouth is empty, and when it’s stuffed full again he’s trying to swallow around the girth, trying to move his tongue the best he can with the way it’s trapped against the bottom of his mouth. His effort is making the lewdest sounds, sloppy, wet, and little gags. Because if he does this right the first time, it’ll be done faster. If he does what he’s told he won’t have to do it again. 

“None of that,  _ you look at me _ ” God Jason doesn’t want to, it’s already too much and he can’t handle it. He can’t deal with seeing the eyes belonging to Dick Grayson stare into his soul when he’s got a mouthful of Ric’s cock. There’s drool dripping down his chin, his skin is flushed beyond denial, and he can feel the prick of tears in his eyes. There’s nails digging into his scalp and Ric’s repeating himself. Jason would shake his head if he could. He stubbornly keeps his eyes closed until he’s being held at his pelvis again, until he really can’t hold his breath anymore and he’s starting to panic that he isn’t going to be let off. Jason knows what he wants, knows that the only way that Ric is going to let him off is if Jason does what he says. For someone who claims to be someone else entirely, his bullheadedness is all Dick Grayson. 

It’s not until he’s light headed and his vision is starting to go fuzzy that he finally opens his eyes, that he finally catches the degrading gaze above him. Ric holds him there a bit longer, as if to make a point before he let’s Jason pull off. There’s a string of spit connecting them, Ric not quite letting Jason pull away entirely with the way he keeps rubbing the flared head against his swollen lips, smearing precum around them like lip gloss. He’s crying now, there’s no denying it with the way the fat tears feel like lava sliding down his face, not once does he look away. He wasn’t told to, fuck if he doesn’t want to get his neck bit into again because he isn’t listening to a simple request. 

“So beautiful” Ric praises in a way that Jason knows he shouldn’t like. All the same Jason’s desperate to hear more of it, because even if this isn’t Dick, even if this isn’t his childhood idol Jason can _ pretend _ that this gaze belongs to  _ him, _ he can get lost in this voice and swept up in the fantasy of being  _ wanted _ . “God you’re pretty when you cry” Jason is preening under the attention, even when his throat is fucked raw and the tears haven’t stopped just yet. 

Too much, too much, too much, not enough.

Jason thinks he’s just going to be granted another inhale before the next round when he’s being pushed over the seat and into the back. He’s scrambling to sit up when Ric’s grabbing him and turning him so that he’s pressed chest first into the cheap upholstery, face down over the little spine of the seat, anymore and he’d have it against the glass. He doesn’t ask what Ric wants when he’s nipping at the back of his ear, hands roaming over his body hungry before they’re hooking at his jeans to pull down and off - the belt he’s wearing stops it from falling far and Ric really doesn’t like that. The growl it earns him outright hateful as the pesky thing is ripped from the loops. Briefly he thinks that it’s going to be used to subdue his hands, Ric proves to be full of surprises when he’s putting the leather in his mouth and being told to bite down. The rest of it he can only imagine is wrapped around his hand with the way that he pulls at it like reigns of a horse. 

“Grab the seat” Jason’s hands fly to do as instructed in a heartbeat. He’s going to need something to brace himself with if Ric’s about to do what Jason suspects. It doesn’t take long to find out. His jeans and boxers are shucked down to his knees in one go, the long forgotten holster falling to the seat in a thump. Jason goes rigid, unsure of how this lunatic behind him is going to handle him having - hiding a  _ loaded firearm _ from him. Whatever it could be, it’s certainly not to feel a hand come colliding down atop his ass. He’s too bewildered to do anything more than to jolt forward against the seat, the second it happens, harder and right over the no doubt reddening flesh Jason mewls out against the leather clasped in his teeth. 

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” It’s so fucking corny, it’s exactly the type of shit that Dick would say and it’s ripped away from him in the same instant when the hand comes back down two, three more times over the same spot; promising a handprint for days to come with the way it stings. Merciful isn’t quite the right word when the next slap is delivered to the opposite side, but it’s a hell of a lot better than to make an already shit problem even worse. This time when the hit connects, it’s with Ric sliding his thumb down and between his cheeks, over his hole, pushing in to hook and pull down to watch the way he instinctively clenches down on nothing. He isn’t doing pressing his thumb in for Jason’s pleasure, to his utter horror he’s gathering up the slick so that he can smear it over his hole. This has nothing to do with Jason, and everything to do with Ric leering at a wet hole to fuck. 

_ Baby, you’re so wet and open for me. Just look at you, soaking the sheets with how much you like it when I use my fingers _

This isn’t the right time to think about that. It’s absolutely the worst time to think about it. But when Ric’s smearing slick over his skin, talking about how  _ fucking wet  _ he is, he can’t help it. He can’t help but hear someone else. He can’t help but shiver in anticipation and need, because he knows that being touched here means he’s going to get taken care of. Kyle would fuck his fingers into him for hours if Jason would let him, watching the way that Jason writhed and clenched down on them, suck them clean before wrapping Jason’s thighs around his head and eat him out like a man starving, not stopping until he’s sobbing and shaking everywhere from over sensitivity, talking about how much of a work of art Jason is. Sometimes he’d wake up to voicemails about how much Kyle fantasized about fingering Jason, about how tight he is and how much he wants to to slip his hand between his legs when they’re supposed to be at the movies, when Jason’s talking on the phone with Roy during their weekly check-ins, or when Jason’s supposed to be on patrol and he has Jason bent over the roof’s AC unit. 

Ric doesn’t do any of this. Ric doesn’t push more than half his thumb in to admire his view. Ric doesn’t even warn him more than holding one of his cheeks out of the way when there’s suddenly the blunt head pressed against his hole, pushing in and not stopping until he’s at the hilt. Kyle didn’t just finger him because he liked to, he did it because he knew Jason needed the stretch no matter how wet he was beforehand. Jason’s clenching his teeth so hard down onto the belt that they just might shatter. He’s crying again, god it hurts so much, it feels like he’s been torn in two. Ric doesn’t seem to care, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to even wait for him to adjust when he’s pulling out halfway to snap his hips forward. Ric finally stops talking as he sets a brutalizing pace, hard enough to rock the car with every thrust. It’s not getting any better, the pain is searing hot and his nails are starting to rip out the upholstery with how he’s digging them into the seat. 

Even when it hurts, even when he’s sure that something’s torn Jason can’t help but think this is  _ exactly _ what he deserves. This is just what Roy was talking about, how Jason self sabotaged and punished himself needlessly when he didn’t know how to handle even the smallest bit of love and affection being given to him. At the same time he thinks that it’s okay, it’s okay because this is Dick, this is him finally making up for all of the times he’s dragged them through the mud. Alfred says that Dick loves him in his own way, just doesn’t know how to show it. That their constant bickering is their own convoluted way of showing that they care for each other. 

Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder and Nightwing, was shot in a dirty fucking alleyway, and Jason wasn’t even there to hold his hand in the hospital. Jason didn’t even know and he was selfishly hating the alpha for existing when his entire life was ripped from between his fingertips. Jason wasn’t crying because his ass hurt so much his lowerhalf was starting to go numb, he was crying because the world had lost someone as beautiful as RIchard Jonathan Grayson, while fuck ups like Jason got to walk this earth not once but twice. 

He’s crying because as much as he’s always loathed him, Jason’s loved him double that. As much as they snarled and flashed teeth, his heart melted into puddle at his feet whenever Dick so much as smiled at him. 

He can do this, he can do this for Dick - cause he’s gotta be in there somewhere right? He has to be, this can’t possibly the end for him. He can take this pain if it eases even the smallest bit of Dick’s own because Jason damn well knows what it’s like to come back and be lost, to not know who he is or where he belongs. Jason knows this acutely, understands it more than anyone else could even try. 

It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. 

Jason’s moaning, in pain or pleasure, or a little both, unable to keep himself quiet with the shift of Ric’s hips behind him, with the way that Ric’s driving into him and hitting all the right spots, pressing him into the seat so that his traitorous cock is starting to leak all over his belly. 

“Do you want me to breed you?” The question terrifies him to the bone. Jason’s shaking his head, pleads muffled by the belt when he’s pulled back by until his back is arching obscenity and his mouth is starting to hurt from the tugging at the sides.”Don’t lie to me, I know you want me to fill you up. I know you’ll clench down and not let a single drop free” Jason’s trying to disagree, he’s screaming in his head that he doesn’t want that, that he doesn’t want the steadily growing knot inside of him, no matter how much it makes his inner omega sing. His mind is saying one thing and his body is saying another with how euphoric he feels, with the way his toes are curling in his shoes. 

“You’re going to take my knot, and you’re going to thank me for it” He’s demanding it, growling it into the back of his neck over the bandage there. Jason’s too terrified of a repeat of last night to do anything more than sob out brokenly, hoping it’s enough to spare him. The thrusting behind him is starting to grow erratic and sloppy, signaling that the alpha is close. The thought that he’s being used so thoroughly, that he’s at least good at that, it’s almost enough to make him cum untouched. Ric must pick up on how close he is to achieving his own climax, he must know how much Ric using him is getting him off because in the next moment the cold barrel of his gun is being pressed into the underside of his chin. Jason really starts sobbing then, Ric cooing into his ear to hush him. “Are you going to cum?” And Jason would be stupid to lie, he’s nodding his head without hesitence, crying out in a high pitch squeal with the next hard thrust. “If you cum before I say you can, I’m going to blow your fucking head off” it’s dark, it has no right to make his veins buzz with ecstacy. Jason doesn’t believe him, not outright, he’d never actually pull the trigger. Ric or not, he’d never break his code. That doesn’t stop him from listening, from holding on with all his might as he feels the knot starting to catch at his rim. He wants to start begging again, not to knot him, to just cum on his back or even his face, the belt in his mouth making his efforts jack all. He’s just whining, crying cause he’s such a little bitch and this all he’s good for. When his knot finally pushes in, Jason thinks he’s going to faint with how hard he’s trying not to cum, with how much he’s trying not to scream. 

It hurts so much, the belt is being torn away from him Jason just can’t understand why until he hears the stuttered crooning in his ear and the gun being pressed further into his skin.

“Thank you alpha” God, is that his voice? It sounds so wrecked, so far beyond anything that’s beyond his. It still isn’t good enough, because the gun doesn’t leave the spot it’s pressed into. “Thank you, thank you for your knot alpha, thank you thank you” He’s babbling now, repeating it like his saving mantra until the gun is dropped and the body behind him is slumping into him, high on endorphins and riding it out in pure bliss. 

It’s almost over, he thinks. It’s finally almost over and he’s done his part to make up for all of his past mistakes with Dick. He just has to sit here until his knot goes down, and he can leave. Now that there isn’t any movement behind him the soreness really starts to kick in, he can’t feel his legs, his jaw feels like it was over stretched and he’s most likely bleeding. That doesn’t even include how tight his balls are from being denied release. With enough time he can will the erection away like it never happened. 

Jason’s heart rate is finally starting to steady when Ric starts grinding into him again, earning nothing more than half broken little whimpers with the way his throat twinges in pain. He’s too sensitive for this and he’s trying to tell Ric to stop when a hand is wrapping around his prick, tugging and pulling in a way that’s way too rough, that’s making him buck into it and effectively tug on the knot inside of him. He’s supposed to be holding onto the seat, but he can’t help himself one one hand grasps and refuses to let go of the alpha’s thigh. He stand that he’s crying again, desperate and pathetic until Ric is telling him to cum, the intensity of it so strong he thinks he blacks out for a minute. 

He’s delirious when he comes to, the knot inside him not quite soft but soft enough to pull out without tearing. Ric’s telling him that he’s going to clean up his mess, he’s holding out his hand for Jason to lick up the drops of cum that he’s gotten on it, he’s pushing Jason to the floor to lick the ones off of this filthy back seat, and then to clean his cock until there’s nothing more than the taste of his own saliva. He’s not affectionate, he’s not even grateful. 

“Get out” Jason hears the rumble above him. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t put up a fight. He fixes his clothing and crawls out of the cab, barely catching the gun when it’s tossed to him. Ric doesn’t even look at him as he starts the car and drives away. 

**Author's Note:**

> That was a fucking train wreck. Jason is a very inconsistent and unreliable narrator. Why? Does he even know what he wants? What he likes? Probably not.
> 
> I've had this on my mind for days now, and while I was patiently waiting for someone else to fill this, I decided why the hell should I wait? Why don't I just write this out myself? And here we are! 
> 
> I love the idea of Ric Grayson treating his siblings/former friends like trash. I really love the idea that Ric knows the way he's acting is tearing them apart, and he manipulates them into doing as he pleases because of it, especially vulnerable boys like Jason.
> 
> Don't forget shipmates, Duke Thomas IS a batboy.
> 
> Drop by [CaptainDeadShips](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/captaindeadships) to let me know what you think, to bash me, or request something you wanna see.


End file.
